5 Sherlolly Halloween Tales: Vampire
by MoniMcCoy
Summary: Journalist Molly Hooper was presented with the chance of her life when she was told to interview mysterious philantropist Mr. Holmes. What at first seemed to be a piece of cake, it soon turns to be a more difficult task than she had originally expected. Is there more of Mr. Holmes than what meets the eye?


**Here it is! My new series for this Halloween, I'll try to post it every Sunday until Halloween if I can. Enjoy this chapter!**

* * *

It was the sound of thunder what woke her up, and the feeling of waking in a stranger's bed made her tremble in fear. How had she ended there on the first place?

She remembered being in her office looking for a new story to write about, when her boss, Mike had called telling her that the mysterious philantropist known only as Mr. Holmes had finally agreed to get an interview with them and he needed his best reporter to make 'The Daily Barts' be the most read newspaper of all England. So she had accepted, mainly because this story would finally launcher towards the promotion she had waited for since she had first entered that place.

She also remembered telling the good news to Mary the photographer, and getting in the van with her cameraman, John. Oh how many, had looked at her with envy in their eyes, but she found she couldn't care less when it should have unnerved her and make her turn into her alter ego 'Mousy Molly'. She was going to be really famous for this and that was the only thing that mattered.

Molly wasn't dumb. Before parting she had made her own small investigation about the man she was going to interview. It seemed that no one had ever seen his face, since he liked to isolate himself in a small mansion in the outsiders of a small village a bit far from London. Pluckley, she remembered it was called.

The reasons why he did that were unkwon, but many had tried to see what he had to hide and failed miserably, there were also rumours that he was some kind of disfigured monster who had to hide himself from society because of his appearence. But she didn't pay them much attention, she was a professional journalist, she couldn't trust everything she read or heard.

So there they went, in an old van that had seen better days and with a pouring rain that would probably cause a rise in the riverbed and flood all roads. They would have to stay overnight and probably wait until morning to leave. At first she hadn't had a problem with that, but when she saw the village they were going to stay in, she totally changed her mind. Pluckley was the creepiest place she had ever seen, and she had been in several morgues doing scientifical reports for the newspaper. But nothing could compare with the ghostly aura that surrounded that entire village. It looked like everyone and everything were dead, and she didn't like it. Even John, who considered himself to be a brave man, gulped when he saw the village.

Since their interviewee, had requested to meet at night at his place, they had to comply. No matter how much it was raining, no matter how scary things looked with the light of thunder; they had to go. The stopped in the small police station, where an attractive (at least in Molly's point of view) DI Inspector kindly gave them directions towards the manor. He seemed to be the only bright thing in there, and that relieved both of them a little bit. At least not everyone looked pulled from an Edgar Alan Poe story there.

Mr. Holmes lived uphill, probably to have a better look of his subordinates. The road up there was quite narrow and danerous. Not mentioning that they could slip and fall of. She trusted John, he was a good driver, he wouldn't make them have an accident. How wrong she had been, but it really hadn't been John's fault, but the rain now turned storm. A ray had hit a tree and made it fall just a few meters in front of them, John had pressed the brake pedal, but he didn't do it in time and then-

She froze when she noticed that she was alone in that room, there was no sign of John anywhere. She was completely alone and soaked to the bone. What it he hadn't survived? No, she couldn't think that, John was strong, he had to have survived. Otherwise, she wasn't sure if she could face Mary ever again. He was probably in a different room than hers.

Talking about rooms, she had never seen one so luxuriously decorated. Everything seemed to be from the past century but that made it even more exquisite. What she noticed was that the dominant colour in the room seemed to be red. Red were the velvet covers of the bed she was sitting in, red was the carpet, red were the curtains, red were the sit and the back of the dark wooden chairs.

'The owner of this room must really like red', she thought.

Outside, the rain continued falling, and didn't seem to stop soon. If she narrowed her eyes, she could distinguish some dim lights shinning from below. That was Pluckley, she was sure, which only could mean that... she was in the manor! But who had taken her there? Had it been John? No, otherwise he would have stayed with her until she had woken up? Mr. Holmes instead? Impossible, he barely left the manor at all judging by what she had heard of him, someone who had that money, would never bother getting dirty for some common girl like her, and less a journalist.

A knock on the door made her jump from the window and scoot towards a wall, she didn't know why she did it, it wasn't like she was a prisoner there.

The door opened, and she let out an releived sigh when she saw it was an old woman with the kindest eyes she had ever seen.

"Yoo-hoo! I see you are finally awake, dearie. That's good I was starting to think you would never wake."

Before Molly was able to speak the woman let out and horrified gasp.

"Oh my Goodness, dearie! You are soaked to the bone! You are going to catch a cold and we don't want that, do we? Luckily for you I have brought you a dress to wear while your clothes get dry. I know it is not the most fashionable thing these days, but, hey! One day it was!" She laughed at her own joke and put the dress on the back of the chair.

"Oh, silly me!" She slapped her forehead. "Sherlock wants to see you for dinner dear, so better put that dress and run downstairs. God knows that boy throws a fit everytime someone arrives late, he is almost impossible!"

Molly still didn't say anything, it was really difficult with that woman ranting every five seconds, and she didn't want to be rude interrupting her.

"Well, dearie, I'll leave you to change. But remember! Be quick!" And she went out of the room.

"Sherlock? So that is Mr. Holmes name..."

Molly approached the dress on the chair. It was beautiful, the kind of dress a Disney Princess would wear, and as everything in that room, it was red. She took off her damp clothes, but she made sure to leave on at least her knickers. What kind of professional she would be if she went to an interview without knickers. Not the kind of professional she was.

The dress was absolutely perfect, it fitted in all the right places, well, except for one. The dress had been made for someone who had a couple more of bra cups than her. So it just hung awkwardly on the chest area and she had to pull it up every few times to make sure it wouldn't fall down. It was embarrasingly enough for her to have small breasts, it would be worse if the two of them made an appearance during dinner.

She suddenly rememebered John. The old woman hadn't mentioned him, but that didn't mean he wasn't there with her. She would have to ask Sherlock *ahem*, Mr. Holmes about it.

Pulling out a pair of black Mary-Janes from her bag, because she refused walk around in the high heels that the old woman had left under the bed, she made her way out of the bedroom and towards the supposed dining hall, which now that she thought about it, she didn't know where it was. She would have to orientate herself, as if her sense of orientarion wasn't bad enough already.

As the previous room, the dominant colour was red. Red decorated everything in this manor, she couldn't help but feel like the heroine of an old horror movie. Everything was so old here, she would believe she had gone back in time.

She came to notice that only selected halls were illuminated by the golden gas lamps in the walls, they looked like they were giving her instructions about how to reach the dining room. A smart way of leading her through the castle, she thought.

Even with the lights on, her surroundings were so somber she quickened her pace. With every step she took, she couldn't help but feel like someone was watching her, the eyes of the portraits were moving or it was just her imagination?

Finally she reached the wooden doors, that the lamps had lead her to. It was probably the dining room since there were no other lamps lighted in the area but the ones she had followed. Taking hold of the golden handles she pushed, marveling at the elegant room. There was a huge dining table covered in a white tablecloth with two golden lines at the borders. Fine plates of chinese porcelain were put at the two ends of the table, accompained by a couple of wine glasses and silver cutlery, at least she thought they were made of silver. At one end, a fire was roaring in the fireplace, and in front of it there was a man, holding a glass of wine and looking intensely at it.

When he heard the doors close, he turned to receive her, and she gasped in admiration. The man before her was six feet of lithe elegancy, marked cheekbones, cupid bowed lips and sea-green intense eyes. He was dressed in a white shirt, a turquoise vest (that was really tight, to her pleasure), a red tie, black pants and black italian shoes. She could dare to say that he was the most exquisite piece of all the mansion.

"Mr. Holmes?" She asked, tentatively.

"Please, call me Sherlock. Mr Holmes was my brother, and my father. And I am not like them." He offered a small seductive smile that turned her insides into jelly as he signaled for her to seat.

When they sat one in front of the other, she shivered when she felt his analysing gaze on her.

"Unmarried, orphan, only child, cat person, morbid tastes... how interesting..." He muttered.

She blinked.

"Excuse me?"

Sherlock offered her a forced smile.

"I see Mrs. Hudson has chosen a suitable dress for you. It looks good." He paused to take a sip of the wine."It used to belong to my late wife, Irene. She died on a fire." He titled his head towards a painting that decorated the wall.

The woman in it was breathtakingly beautiful, a beauty that Molly had always thought that didn't exist, because it was impossible. But there it was. The paleness of her skin making a huge contrast with the sultry red lips and dark hair. She could lose herself in her eyes, they were just too entrancing. And she was wearing the gown that she was wearing now, though it looked a thousand times better on Irene's body. Molly suddenly felt unworthy of it.

She looked around, hoping that John would enter and break that uncomfortable silence that had grown between them, but he didn't appear. And that worried her even more.

"Are you expecting someone?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, acutall, yes. Where is my cameraman? If this is going to be an interview I'll need him, and I have not seen him since the accident, and I am quite worried."

Sherlock let out a chuckle.

"Don't worry Mrs. Hooper, your colleage is resting at the village's inn. I myself made sure of it when I found you. And no, you won't be needing him because I don't like being filmed or photographed, so this is going to be a personal interview between you and me. You'll ask the questions and I'll answer them."

Molly felt releived when she knew of her friend's whereabouts, but still unnerved her that she was going to do this on her own. However, she was more surprised that it had been him who had rescued them.

"You were the one who found us?"

He rolled his eyes in impatience.

"I've already said that. You were taking too long and I was getting tired of waiting so I deduced something had happened to you. I called an old acquaintance and we found you."

He let out an annoyed huff at her surprised face.

"Don't look at me like that, I actually go out sometimes, but people never see me. You must not be a great journalist if you believe everything you read on the internet."

Molly had the decency to blush and mutter a weak 'sorry', she knew he was right. She shouldn't have been so rude to him.

Luckily for them Mrs. Hudson arrived with the dinner. They ate in an uncomfortable silence, looking at each other when the other wasn't looking. As she was finishing the dessert, Sherlock finally spoke.

"I suggest we start our interview in a more comfortable place." He walked towards her an offered her his arm. She almost felt sad for leaving that delicious strawberry and vanilla cake behind, but who could say no to that gorgeous face?

They walked together through the illuminated halls, though Molly couldn't remember if those had been the ones she had walked by before. From time to time, she would catch Mr Holm-, Sherlock checking her with his aquamarine eyes, but when he noticed she had caught him, he woul turn his head to look at the front, only to return his gaze to her fifteen seconds later.

After the longest couple of minutes of her life, they finally reached their destination. To say the room they were now in astonished her was an understatement. There, in front of her, was a beautiful gallery with a transparent walls and roof so you could see everything while you were there. But that wasn't the best part, the best part was he had brillantly managed to convert what could had been a tearoom into a laboratory. What a delight.

Sherlock gave her a smug smile. "I thought this could be a more appropiate place for an interview."

He made himself confortable in one of the chairs and gestured her to do the same. Flustered she sat in front of him and tried to not look too much when he crossed one leg over the other and crossed his hands.

"Come on, what are you waiting for? A formal invitation? Just start this damn interview!"

It amazed her how one moment he could be so charming and then a rude brat. Maybe he was bipolar? Or was he just short-tempered? Anyway, she didn't want him to continue glaring at her so better start now.

"O-okay so... why?"She corrected herself after she saw him arch an elegant eyebrow. "I mean... you have never been seen in public and you always avoid any kind of social relation with the media... So why did you decided to make an appearence now?"

He put his big hands under his chin, in a position of praying and looked thoughtful for a moment.

"Nobody tends to look at you with good eyes if you are considered a recluse, no matter how compromised you are with social clauses, you will always be the isolated freak."

"Oh." She said. "And what new projects are you invested in, right now?"

He jumped from the chair, and walked into the center of the room.

"Actually, now I would like to make you a question, if you don't mind. Then you can continue your interview and I won't interrupt again."

Molly didn't dare to tell him no, he could get angry and refuse to answer any of her questions. So she thought the sooner she answered the sooner the interview could continue.

"Of course, Sherlock."

Sherlock gracefully moved towards the end of the room, just in front of the glass pannel and pulled off the sheet that covered a metal table. Molly swore she would have fainted right then and there if she hadn't furled to the thought that there was a work she had to finish and that she couldn't let Mike down. But what was that man doing with a corpse, a fucking corpse with its chest cavity opened, in his house?

"Don't make that face, you look like a fish. The small morgue of this dull village provided it to me to investigate the cause of the death. And to save us time, yes, I also investigate crimes, one can get quite bored living as a recluse."

"Y-you are full of surprises, Sherlock."

He smirked. "Come here, take a closer look at his liver, you are a strong woman I am sure you will manage to not throw up." Molly cautiosly approached as he took several steps back to stand again in the other side of the room. "What do you see?"

"He was poisoned, Amatoxin I believe. How could he have eaten poisonous mushrooms?"

"Excellent, absolutely excellent." She screamed when she felt his breath on her neck, it was ice cold, now that she thought of it, all his body had been cold when they had walked from the dining room to here, and now was no different. Sherlock continued praising her skills. "You are a natural, you are a rough diamond waiting to be polished. The perfect combination of intelligence and beauty. Why did you stop studying pahtology?"

"Well, after my father died I kept seeing his face on every corpse I dissected and I couldn't bring myself to finish my studies, so that is why I started journalism which is what my mom want- wait..." She had been so enraptured with his praisings that she hadn't noticed how important and crucial had been the last question. "How did you know I specialised in pathology?"

Sherlock's demenaour of admirer fell down, and in front of her stood a completely different person, a predator. "I would have not bring you here otherwise, Margaret Anne Hooper."

Molly took a step back, towards the pannel. He followed.

"The only thing I wanted was you. Why did you think I decided to have my first interview with your pathetic excuse of a newspaper? Why did you think I choose you of all people to do that interview? I've been following you through all your journalism career, Molly. You have caused me quite an impression. And I am not easily impressed, so I deduced that the only way to lure you here was offering you the chance of your life."

Molly tried to move but found she couldn't, those eyes had frozen her in place. Each second that passed she was more and more convinced that it wasn't that she couldn't move, but that she didn't want to. And that thought scared her.

"What are you?" She whispered.

Only when he gave her the first real smile of the evening was when she caught a glimpse of those protuding fangs.

"I am a man who has been lonely for too long."

The last coherent thought Molly had that night was how good having his fangs sinking deep into her neck felt.

* * *

No matter how hard her friends tried to find her. Molly wasn't seen again, it was like she had vanished on thin air. The last thing John Watson remembered was being in the van with her and having an accident, then everything went black.

There was a search party, all over the land of Pluckley. They looked for her everywhere, but she didn't appear. Even New Scotland Yard took part on her search. But even they got nothing, Molly Hooper didn't exist anymore, she had gone missing. Or so they thought.

What they didn't see, was that every second they looked for her, a couple of lonely figures was observing them from the glass gallery of the Holmes manor. And if they casually looked, they would disappear from sight, but they were still observing. Together.


End file.
